Frustrated Instincts (Marina: Part Three: Naughty Nookie Series)

by Serena Akeroyd

  The smack of the crop against the most sensitive flesh of my body is borderline painless in comparison to the agony of the vibrations. But the direct stimulation to the flesh comes as a relief. A monotonous sound penetrates my ears and I realize it’s Sir’s voice, he’s counting.

  “Twenty, twenty-one.”

  My eyes widen, urging the tears to fall and desperation floods me. It’s never going to happen. The swats aren’t hard, cutting. I wonder if I need that to do as he says. I spit out the gag and cry, “Please, Sir. Harder, harder! I can’t... I can’t do it. Help me, Sir. Please!”

  My pleading has a smile curving his lips. “But I am helping, princess. I can’t hit harder, I don’t want to cut My pussy.”

  A whine escapes me and he says, “Now, now. There’s no need to panic.” He maneuvers himself so that his arm is still held high, even if the position is awkward, but he’s lying beside me. The tapping of the crop against my cunt continues, but his insidious words work their way into my ear. “You love this, princess. I know you need it. The pain to cut into the pleasure, to make it shine all the brighter. I love seeing you like this. Desperate for more, desperate for everything I can give you. And that’s what’s the matter.

  “You want me, don’t you, princess? You want my cock. You need me to fuck you. Just think, my dick slamming hard inside you, touching you like no other ever has or ever will. Fucking you until you cry with pleasure. No one can give you that. No one. Can they, princess? Can they?”

  “No, Sir! No! They can’t. No one makes me feel like you do,” I stutter out, my words a mixture of gushing and hesitant, each word escaping at the same time as he swats my pussy.

  “I know what you need to cum, princess. You need my permission. Even though you’re only a newbie, you need me to give you that release. Even if it’s only verbal.” His lips whisper down the side of my jaw and his words tickle my skin as he growls, “Cum for me, princess. Cum now!”

  The final bark did it. I’d never have believed it, never imagined it was possible but the instant those three letters escaped his mouth, the minute now roared around the room, my climax flooded me.

  The vibrations were no longer an irritant but a requirement. Those pulses acted like the thrust of his cock and the tap of the crop to my clit was all the stimulus I needed.

  My vision turned black as sight escaped me. Sounds fled my eardrums. It was hard to breathe, easy to choke as my lungs hesitated to accept air. I was held high, suspended in flight only to be released into the air, to soar, to fly!

  Awakening to the lap of Sir’s tongue against my clit, my stomach muscles clenched down in rejection. My upper body surged upward and I sat there, dazed, my hands hovering with the desire to grab his head and tug him away.

  My feet twisted and pulled at the bonds, my legs tugged and still he lapped at me. The throbbing pulses in my cunt and ass had stopped; indeed, they were empty of both sex aids. And Sir took advantage, tongue fucking the quivering walls of the throat of my cunt. I wanted to slap him away, stop him but my hands wouldn’t let me. I sat there, trembling, feeling almost punch drunk with sensation until he stopped.

  Eyes dazed, I watched as he sat up, his mouth drenched in my juices and the instant his tongue pushed its way into my mouth, I woke up for real.

  The taste of myself on his lips is clean, fresh. Womanly. I accept every drop of my essence on his tongue, lash his mouth with my own, excited that I can eat hungrily at his lips.

  I feel him rearrange me, but do I care? No.

  My mind reawakens to the knowledge that my legs are still bound to the bed, but he’s slipped underneath me and I’m now sitting on his thighs. His cock is at the entrance to my cunt, the blunt tip is there, waiting. His hips lift a little but from the position, we both know I’ll have to ride him.

  Pressing my hands into the mattress, I push myself closer to him and with his hand on his shaft, he guides himself into me.

  The instant he does, my arms tremble and it takes everything I have to stay strong and not to fall. I manage, just. The wet, clinging walls of my cunt grasp and caress Sir’s cock in a sloppy kiss and his groan of pleasure is music to my ears.

  To ride him, I have to tug against my bindings and then use the strength in my upper body to propel myself forward. It isn’t comfortable. It’s like being in an exercise class and within two thrusts; sweat is popping out of every pore. But this isn’t about me, I know that. I clench down on him, even though my pussy is still hypersensitive after that session of torture with the two vibrators. I huff through the sensory agony and try to ride him as fast as I can. I wriggle my hips, swiveling them to deepen the penetration, using all of my strength to get him to climax. On the brink of desperation swirling through me, I feel fingers at my sex.

  “May I cum, Sir? P-p-please?”

  “Do you deserve to cum, princess?”

  “I-I don’t know, Sir, but please, may I?” I cry, hiccupping the words.

  He doesn’t answer and his silence adds to my torment. My hips wriggle and wiggle, doing everything within my power to turn him on, to please him. And in answer, my little clitty, red from the crop, stinging and sensitive from the weird-ass orgasm that had catapulted me upward, is pinched. Hard.

  “Cum, princess. Cum for me. Now!”

  And once again, I’m thrown forward. Almost as though I’m in a car, no seatbelt on and there has been a head-on collision. I’m propelled forward into the unknown of a searing orgasm. Pleasure and pain fill me; it’s too good, too hot and then, the cooling balm of his scorching seed floods my overheated womb. The heat is nothing to the searing agony of the climax absorbing me and the soothing splash of his orgasm grounds me. Stops me from collapsing atop him in a pile of limp and lax bones.

  As it is, I’m pulling at my bonds. Every muscle straining taut, lifting me high, until I’m almost in a yoga asana. His hands clench at my hips and slowly lower me to Earth. And then, he’s leaning back, his fingers are at the ties at my ankles, releasing me and urging my legs to curl about his waist. I surround him for once, but still, I’m all encompassed by him.

  Every inch of me is embraced, tucked against his warmth. His fingers smooth up and down my back, caressing, gently tickling. My skin bobbles with gooseflesh, every part of me feels his loving touch and somehow, even though those were the two strongest, most powerful orgasms of my life, this feels like the most exquisite, beautiful moment of my existence.

  Three

  I’ve always hated the labs. In a family of scientists, I’m a rarity. An artist. Had my IQ not been on par with Einstein’s and had I not won awards for my pieces from a young age, I doubt my parents would have tolerated me as much as they did. And they hadn’t tolerated me much at all.

  If I say they spent eighteen hours a day here, it wouldn’t be an exaggeration.

  Mom, the biologist and Dad, the biochemist… their shared love for biology had been the courting phase of their relationship and the eugenics project, the actual foreplay. If they touched each other after my conception and birth, it would have been a shock. I don’t think I even remember my mother ever rubbing his neck or shoulders and it was the same with father. They were the least tactile people I’ve ever met and living with the Brainy Bunch, I’ve known some awkward folk.

  The labs were more their home than the homestead was. They even had cots in their offices to sleep on. And I’m not talking crappy camping cots, but beds. When I was really young, they’d eat their meals with me. I think to instil the importance of proper nutrition into their daughter. After time, they shoved me on to the housekeeper, Bitch Brownley as I used to call her, and left me to the staff. I only ever came to the labs to be punished or lectured. Why do you think I hate them?

  Not that they’re like they used to be.

  Every year, we spend millions on updating the equipment, improving security, upgrading the facilities. It’s one of the costliest parts of the commune, but one of the most lucrative. At this very moment, we have government contracts in play. Defense
contracts for bio-weaponry and all kinds of crazy shit that would terrify me if I were a civilian. As it is, I’m fucking used to all the James Bond stuff. Very little surprises or frightens me where this lab is concerned.

  In fact, it isn’t the science that is a cause for concern, but the scientists. It’s easy to lose yourself here, tucked away in Montana, cosseted by the commune and protected from harm. It’s easy to lose your morals. And I don’t mean in a ‘having an affair’ kind of way. Nothing so trite. I mean the simple act of forgetting your humanity. That, more than anything, is terrifying.

  What do I mean by that? Well, let me give you an example.

  It has come to my attention—yet another thing Uncle Sam has hidden from me—that we have a problem with four of the same sex couples who live at Blue Ridge.

  Now, everyone is welcome here so long as their genius is proven. Black, white, gay, straight, rich, poor, man, woman. We don’t give a damn. The only prejudice on this commune revolves around intelligence and we can be a mean bunch. Even the older folk, the people from an older generation, they don’t really care which hole is filled or what’s doing the stuffing. All they care about is the eugenics project and I understand their concerns.

  I’ve been looking into purchasing the equipment for a sperm donation service. The more I look into it, the more complicated it is and at the same time, more considerations pop into my head. Blue Ridge is a place where if you don’t go big, you might as well go home.

  Hence, my annoyance with Uncle Sam and this goddamn horsey fund he has managed to hide from me for nigh on a year according to the un-doctored accounts I’ve found in the office. His lies, the fact he didn’t consult me and then the deceit, they’re my major problems with Sam. But the size of the damned stable is also an issue.

  There’s an old English phrase, one a great-Aunt used to tell me as a child, ‘In for a penny, in for a pound.’ And in this instance, I’m thinking as Sam did with his purebred project, let’s go all out.

  There are couples on here who can’t have children. If we could somehow make a fertility clinic; have an IVF center with a sperm donation service… the idea bears merit.

  The only problem stems from the geneticists we have here. And their lack of humanity. I’ll undoubtedly have a moral fight on my hands, because this is the kind of place where people don’t ask why. They ask why the hell not.

  Within days of introducing such a center to the ranch, I’d have a moral fight on my hands.

  In fact, it’s a shock that test tube babies haven’t been a part of the Brainy Bunch’s agenda for a long time. Maybe my granddaddy and father also came across this particular roadblock. The idea of designer babies isn’t a new one and I know the geneticists will bitch and moan, their longing to experiment with something no human has the right to mess with will be the cause of many a headache. To me, it’s abhorrent. And it should be to everyone here.

  I’ll just have to see how it all goes. As it is, it’s a pain in my ass waiting to happen. But it's a solution to my other problems with the same-sex couples and the pairs who want to have kids but can't. No matter how much hassle it’s going to cause me, it’s something I’ll have to seriously consider.

  Grunting at the thought, I stop staring up at the main entrance to the labs—yeah, I haven’t even taken a step inside and already, my brain is flooded with memories and procrastinations—and finally push the door open. The smell hits me first and it’s a weird one. Kind of like a hospital usually smells, apart from the one where Nate was a patient, but there’s also the smell of o-zone. It makes my nose twitch.

  I’ve taken an interest in most aspects of the ranch over the last couple of weeks. Trying to reconnect with a bunch of people to whom I’ve never really been connected, save by the land itself. I can’t deny it’s been hard, but it’s a first step. I don’t want to be an absentee guardian anymore and the ranch has had enough of that with my father. He might never have taken a step outside Blue Ridge from becoming an adult, but still, he was absent from his duties, because the ranch itself wasn’t his principle concern. His research was.

  Well, no more. I want a different relationship with my people. I just have to cultivate friendship with them and that shouldn’t be too hard. Right?

  Grimacing at the thought, I wander down the sterile corridors. The labs are housed in a huge square building. Inside, there’s a corridor that runs around the inner perimeter and it takes you to every corner of the place. The corridor is windowed on both sides so I can look into the labs as well as look outside and not ten feet into the place, I come to a halt.

  They’re there again. All three of them sat together, talking together, whispering together… Alexei, Greta and James.

  I don’t know what it is about them, but something, some niggle keeps on bringing them to my attention.

  Why is no one else freaked out about it?

  I mean, surely they remember the hostility? Even as a kid, I saw it. Felt it.

  The men had been best of friends before Greta had shown up and ruptured what had once been a beautiful, innocent friendship. Like a siren, she’d dived right in and caused mischief and havoc; inspiring jealousy between Alexei and James, as well as the long-deceased John. The amputee that had killed himself one summer, long ago.

  I hate labeling him like that. The amputee. As though that defined him. Not his mathematic genius. Or his abilities. Just his physical disability. The thought is definitely unpalatable.

  I narrow my eyes at the three of them, wondering how hostility had turned into friendship. Anyone else, I’d have thought bygones had simply become bygones. As it is, where Greta’s involved, I’d say shit had a chance of smelling like honey first.

  Without taking the chance to think about it, I open the door to their quarters and step inside the sterile environment. The temperature control is set low and in my thin jacket, I shiver a little but brush it off as all three of them jerk back in surprise at my entrance.

  I’ve had to temper my brusqueness these last few days. Had to pretty up my words and make sure I don’t create enemies where I want allies. As it is, I doubt I can keep a civil tongue in my head with these three. They get my back up. A part of me registers it’s a long-lost loyalty to the man who took his own life over the situation these three stirred up, but I ignore the thought and the distant memories of John to ask, “What are you doing in here, Greta? I didn’t realize you’d switched specialties.”

  “We’re working on an experiment together.” The blonde’s smirk has me shutting down my temper. It would be easy to lay into her. Way, way too easy. She’s that sort of woman. Within seconds, she has you wanting to tear her hair out. I don’t know why, but she does.

  “Yeah?” I ask. “What kind of experiment, James?”

  It doesn’t escape my attention that the men have ducked their heads or that Alexei is slightly pink. It might not be a lie. The three of them work in compatible sciences. Greta in computer science, Alexei in biophysics and James in math. I’m just curious as to what that experiment might be.

  Greta’s quick to open her mouth to try to reply, but I hold up my hand. “James has a tongue, I believe, Greta. And I did ask him. What kind of experiment are the three of you involved in?”

  James is a Brit. He came to us in the seventies and has been here ever since. Just like Eddie, he tends to say the weirdest phrases. Sometimes, it makes me question if Brits and Americans speak the same language. I watch him as he tugs at his collar and in a voice so low it might as well have been a whisper, he says, “A bionic experiment.”

  “You’re the team working on Nate’s hand?”

  Greta’s smirk has made a reappearance. My hand itches with the desire to smack it away. Fuck, she rubs me up the wrong way. “Yeah, a clever device, isn’t it?”

  I’d like to deny it, just to spite her, but it’s a frickin’ miraculous device. The fingers of the hand are on a ten to fifteen second delay from the time Nate thinks about something he wants to do, to the bionic prosthetic act
ually reacting. The motility, the dexterity… the creation’s capabilities are worthy of a Nobel Prize. There are plenty of models starting to make their way on to the market, but this one is purely in the prototype phase. Even at this stage, it’s incredibly advanced.

  “It is. Congratulations.” I study the three of them, saying nothing, just watching them with a frown on my face until even Greta starts to fidget.

  “Is there a problem?” she asks, voice brittle.

  I start to shake my head, but I pause, hesitate over my words until I eventually say, “This is a new development, isn’t it?”

  “What?” she snaps.

  “The three of you. Together.”

  Alexei’s head pops up and he glowers at me. “What are you suggesting?”

  Despite myself, I snicker at his offense. “Now who’s got a dirty mind? Get your thoughts out of the gutter, Alexei. I meant the three of you in the same room. The last time I was here, you couldn’t stand to be in the mess with James, Alexei. Yet here the three of you are. Chatting, gossiping like nothing happened. What’s changed?”

  “Time heals all wounds,” Greta slots in, as smooth as silk.

  Humming my disbelief under my breath, I ask, “Since when? As far as I was aware, John’s death didn’t do anything to improve your relationship, so why should time? And why now? After so long has passed.”

  Alexei’s tone is sharp, as he bites out, “At our age, we can’t afford to let old friendships die out.”

  “Bullshit.” Oops. Hell, it just popped out. “John committed suicide; if that isn’t something to make you reconsider your stance, your own mortality won’t affect you.”

  “There comes a time, when bygones must be bygones,” James comments, his eyes somber.

  I let my gaze drift from James to Alexei and back again. What they’re saying isn’t unbelievable, so why don’t I believe it?

  As a kid, I wasn’t interested in the adults on the commune, unless they directly affected my life. So, I gave a damn about the artists who helped me and who taught me their techniques. But the scientists were outside of my radar. And yet, the sheer hatred between John, prior to his death, and these two was of mammoth proportions. It filtered all the way down to me. So such an easy, simple answer doesn’t sit well with me.